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A Romance of 
The Orient 


BEING A POEM IN PROSE 
REGARDING “HIGH GRADE ” 
BY HAROLD BOLCE 


GALVESTON, TEXAS 

January, Nineteen Hundred Eleven 








Copyright, 1911 
by 

Galveston Brewing Co. 


s 

^ I < 









©C!.A2S1C)94 


A Romance of the Orient 

HAD wandered from Shinbashi — the 
Broadway, the Unter den Linden, the 
Piccadilly of Tokio — and following an 
inner impulse which I could not 
explain, found myself in a narrow 
and densely crowded street running 
between squat shops and ending at 
the spacious steps of a temple to 
Buddha. I elbowed my way between children, and carts, 
and jinrikishas — or rickshaws for short — hauled by half- 
naked brown men yelling to the people to make room, and 
finally reached the temple stairs. 

I was standing there watching the devotees placing 
their votive-offerings at shrines conveniently located at 
both balustrades. Everywhere there were multitudes, and 
a babel of voices like the noise of great waters. 

Above and beyond, the doors of the temple showed 
that the edifice was also filled with worshipers. 

Obviously, something more than an ordinary day in 
the calendar of ceremonies was at hand. And I had just 
begun to congratulate myself for following the impulse 
that had led me into the street where something peculiarly 
unique in the customs of this interesting people was to be 
witnessed, when there rose high above the clamor a strong 
series of commands with a new and assertive emphasis. 
Here was clearly no querulous command of hucksters and 
jinrikisha men. 

There was something in the shout that suggested the 
power and fearlessness of the samurai. I turned and saw 






In the rickshaw was a Japanese apparently about eighteen years old. 


A I^OMANCE OF THE ORIENT 


7 


a strange spectacle. The multitude which had a moment 
before been an indeterminate, incoherent mass, filling the 
street, had been cleft in two, as if by magic. The two halves 
had formed two solid walls, between which with not an 
obstacle to block the way, there came at full speed toward 
the temple a canopied jinrikisha splendidly adorned, 
drawn not by one man, but by two arranged tandem, while 
a third pushed the vehicle from behind. It was these three 
men who uttered as they ran the series of staccato shouts 
— shouts which silenced the multitude and opened an 
unimpeded avenue for the arriving of the new communicant. 

I expected to see some distinguished count or perhaps 
the crown prince, but a new surprise and experience awaited 
me. 

In the rickshaw was a Japanese girl, apparently about 
eighteen years old. She was daintily attired in silks. A richly 
brocaded obi girded her. As is the custom with women of 
Nippon, she wore no hat. She was beautiful, but sadness 
was written on her countenance, and I felt my spirit rising 
in protest against the Fate that had dared to touch with 
a tinge of sadness so rare a product of human perfection. 

What was supremely significant in the episode of 
deference paid by the crowd was that women in Japan 
are usually ignored. I reasoned at once that here was a 
girl from one of the great houses of the empire, a descendant 
of the Shogun, perhaps, or a member even of the Mikado’s 
household. 

I rejoiced in the opportunity that had placed me where 
I was to witness an unusual rite or ceremony performed by 


A ROMANCE OF THE ORIENT 


an unusual and altogether beautiful young woman of the 
land. I had no thought of being identified with it: that I 
was to be not only a spectator, but was also to share in the 
strange events so quickly to follow, was beyond all expec- 
tation. 

The rickshaw turned at the temple steps, and the man 
who had been pushing now emerged at the side and with 
marked deference held her hand while she stepped out. The 
man said something to her in her native speech. She shook 
her head, and he went back to his place. The crowd had no 
sooner closed in the path which her arrival had cleared than 
another shout arose, differing from the imperial command 
which had attended her coming, but equally potent in clearing 
a path through the ranks of the street people. Eight men 
now appeared, each four bearing aloft an oblong box. Their 
outcry as they marched with their uplifted burden toward 
the temple was an intonation of gladness. Strange as I was 
to the Japanese tongue, I felt that this was not a dirge. 

But only for a moment did I forget the princess on the 
steps. She had partly turned and was now watching the 
arrival of these eight servitors whose ceremonial dress 
suggested that they perhaps were acolytes of the temple. 
At all events, their strange litany, their resolute march 
toward the temple doors sturdily bearing above them the 
oblong offerings, continued to make a passage for them 
as they marched. 

Perhaps, I suggested to myself, this is preliminary to 
some sacrificial offering. 

The young girl who had come in the rickshaw now 


A ROMANCE OF THE ORIENT 


$ 

seemed to hesitate; and in fact she did half -kneel on the 
temple steps, supporting herself by clinging to the stone 
front of a shrine. 

I had never expected to have the opportunity or be 
called upon to duplicate the deeds of Mordred or Sir Launce- 
lot, but as no one of all that potpourri of population ventured 
to see whether the young lady was in distress or about to 
faint, I felt that it was my privilege, if not my duty, to give 
first aid to the injured. I was not then sufficiently familiar 
with the customs of the Far East to know that they had 
refrained from going to her for the same reason that the 
Queen of Siam was allowed to drown — because it would have 
been profanation to lay secular hands upon her sacred form. 
I did know, however, that most of the young people of Japan 
and all the children of high caste are now taught to speak 
English as well as French, and casting all hesitancy aside, 
I hastened to her while all the Japanese world assembled 
wondered. 

I lifted my hat and bowed. 

“I am a Southerner,” I said — “a Texan, an American. 
I come from Galveston.” I hardly knew what I said. 

She looked up at me, and her face was illumined as 
if the light of a new hope had dawned in her heart. 

“Galveston,” she exclaimed, with a curious catch in 
her breath and a picturesque accent as if the word were 
spelled “Galves Tong.” And then she added, looking up 
at the temple like a Chaldee seeking a spell from the stars : 
“Galves Tong I He has been there.” 

Who “he ” was I had no means immediately of divining. 


10 


A ROMANCE OF THE ORIENT 


but as Galveston is a residential city as well as a manu- 
facturing and shipping center, my inward prayer was that 
Galveston was still and would remain his abiding home ! 

Her lips trembled, and the words “died on the adoring 
air,” as Poe would have said if he had had the privilege of 
my experience. The girl was bewitching. Her hesitating 
manner, coupled with an unusual sense of freedom, appar- 
ently the outgrowth of having deference paid her, made me 
careful of my address, while it also convinced me that I 
would not trespass if I sought to aid her. 

“You are in distress, perhaps,” I said. “You may need 
some one. Let me serve you. What can I do? ” 

She looked at me trustingly and with bright anticipation. 
“You are from Galves Tong! You will take to him one 
message? ” 

“I will take two, a folio, a ream — any number,” I 
said in my excitement. “I trust he is not in Galveston,” 
I added mendaciously. 

“Oh, no, no!” she exclaimed. “He is in the temple 
here.” 

I could understand, for the moment, the emotions of 
Samson in the temple of Gaza. 

“I will write one letter and you will take it to him. 
He will see you. He will recognize you. He has been to 
Galves Tong, too.” 

It seemed curious reasoning. I had heard of the subtle- 
ties of the Oriental mind, but this to me was unfathomable. 
I could understand that her Japanese friend might see me 
even amid that crowd of worshipers, for I was an alien in 


A ROMANCE OF THE ORIENT 


11 


foreign garb. But there was nothing about me to indicate 
that I belonged in Galveston. 

She noted my hesitation. ‘‘Today he must recognize 
only the Blood, and he has told me you are all kings in your 
country,” she said, with, it seemed to me, a twinkle of the 
eye. 

I was about to interpose that some of us were only 
heirs-apparent, when she repeated, “For me, it is only for 
the blood purple to see him. This is one great day in the 
Temple.” 

“It sure is,” I agreed, adopting her unconscious vernacular 
of slang. 

I argued to myself that “he” might, indeed, mistake 
me for the American Crown Prince, incognito, for while 
my mien would be sufficient disguise from anything imperial, 
my Americanism was indubitable, but how I was to know 
her hero was difficult to explain. 

“How will I know the gentleman you seek? ” I asked. 

“Hashihoko, he will lead the way,” and she waved 
her little hand beckoningly to the footman who, crouched 
behind the rickshaw, was watching the proceedings, appar- 
ently with a listless eye. He sprang to life and was before 
her in a moment awaiting further orders. From a white 
leather bag in the form of a fish, she took a delicately tinted, 
yellow pad and with a soft black crayon made on it a number 
of idiographs one under the other. 

It looked like a Chinese laundry-ticket. But by her 
earnestness and excitement I realized that it had some deep 
significance. She folded the paper lengthwise and placed 


13 


A ROMANCE OF THE ORIENT 


it in a long, thin envelope which in one corner bore a curious 
coat of arms. And when she held it up to seal it I noticed 
that the paper carried a long sword — the symbol of the 
samurai — as a watermark. On the envelope she made 
some more marks from the Chino- Japanese alphabet, and I 
realized that none of her writings had been in the vernacular, 
for her serving-man, who had imperturbably watched her as 
she wrote, was clearly by his mien unaware of its import. 
She had written, as I could easily realize, in the characters 
that only sinologues teach and only high-caste people learn. 

“Obviously,” I said to myself, “she is writing to some 
nobleman now at his devotions and I, a democrat, am to be 
the messenger of an aristocratic tryst.” 

It was diverting, a new, a delicious experience and I 
was not unwilling to assume the role, and as I looked at 
the expression of gratitude and almost affection in her 
countenance — the face, seemingly, of a mystic who had 
seen the way to Paradise — I said to myself (knowing full 
well that he was not far) that if her Garcia were in any 
place between Cuba and Cathay, any place, in fact, this 
side of Nirvana, I would see to it that the message reached 
his hand. 

She said something in Japanese to Hashihoko, and then 
turned to me with a slight suggestion of curtsey and a smile : 
“You will bring word from him back most quickly. *N’est-ce 
pas?’” 

“Why, my little girl,” I said, “I’ll bring him back. 
Any man would come and beat the short-distance record 
getting here.” 


13 


A ROMANCE OF THE ORIEMI 

“Oh,” she said, “he can not come. It is not in the law.” 

“The law of what? ” I asked. 

“The law of the temple. The law of Gautama Buddha.” 

“Then why not go to him? ” I asked. 

“We must first have the invite,” explained the little 
princess. “You will get it and return to me and we will 
go together.” 

My blood tingled with a new interest, but I was mysti- 
fied. I wondered to whom I was taking so strange a billet- 
doux. I asked her now, outright. 

“To Sakyamuni, surnamed Asoka, Chief of the Priests 
of the Temple.” 

Now a light, even though it might be a somewhat dimly 
religious one, began to dawn upon my Occidental mind. 
But why did she want to see the High Priest? And if she, 
a young woman, obviously of noble lineage, who with her 
attendants had come without fear and with much favor 
freely through the crowded streets, cared to see the ofiiciating 
priest at a Buddhist place of worship, why could she not 
continue her triumphal entrance until she stood or knelt at 
his altar? 

The fog which had apparently lifted from the mysterious 
situation now enwrapt it anew. I began to develop a sense 
of prudence, too, for I had read of some recent and most 
drastic punishments meted out even to strangers who had 
unwittingly profaned the temple, by entering unseemly 
during the performance of sacred rites. 

While I was trying to figure it out, she waved her little 
hand in command to her servant, and he started in a stately 



I lifted my hat and bowed. “ I am a Southerner,” I said. 


15 


A ROMANCE OF THE ORIE^T 

tread up the stairs, motioning to me to follow, and uttering 
a sonorous announcement as he proceeded. I gave a parting 
glance at our dainty commander, and followed resolutely 
in the man’s wake. That one look and the final glance she 
gave me in return made me as brave as a hero in a play. 
Buddha himself could not have barred the way. 

We advanced quickly, for although any ordinary 
attempt to have gotten through that mass of voluble and 
seemingly excited throng of devotees would have been a 
slow if not impossible thing to accomplish, the long-drawn, 
droning shibboleth of the Japanese messenger ahead of me 
was to these people apparently the voice of authority. They 
fell back with a sudden hush, and as we passed, stared not 
so much at him as at me, and some, catching a glimpse of 
the long, yellow envelope I clutched, with its singular black 
crest showing in the corner, murmured admiringly or perhaps 
in awe. 

I had never felt so important in my life before, but 
there were moments when I had a shivering sense of impend- 
ing danger. Such momentary impressions recalled the pride 
of one of the Peers of France who, that the populace of Paris 
might be impressed, stood up in the tumbril on the way to 
the guillotine! 

No attendant or ofiicial of the temple stopped to question 
us. Our path was made clear. Whatever that man ahead of 
me was uttering, it was enough. We passed through the outer 
rooms, where at numerous altars priests were at their devo- 
tions, and where supplicants were tossing cash offerings into 
conveniently placed receptacles. We emerged into a spacious 


16 


A ROMANCE OF THE ORIENT 


domed areaway under arching gates over which wisteria 
and other flowers were in blossom, and proceeded to the 
shrine. The cry which had been uttered by my guide and 
leader had been caught up and was now proclaiming us in 
advance. Before we had reached the portal of that part of 
the temple in which the high priest sat, gazing into a great 
steel disk, he was expecting us. He motioned aside the 
Japanese man ahead of me and indicated by gesture that I 
was to approach. He said something in Japanese, and the 
crowds that had gathered in our wake and which rimmed 
the circle about his shrine melted away. 

When the doors had closed and we two were left with 
this august Buddhist, he rose from his crouching position. 
He proved to be a striking-looking man compactly built. 
His eye was clear, his face benevolent. He had a splendid 
forehead. His face was round and shaven, his hair rather 
long. If he had told me that he believed himself to be 
Benjamin Franklin reincarnated and turned Buddhist, I 
would not have been surprised. He was a typical philoso- 
pher in appearance. His voice was musical, almost bell-like, 
as if it had absorbed some of the temple harmonies. His 
English was measured and slow but correct. 

“Your man has been crying aloud through the temple: 
*Make way for His Highness who comes from the Countess 
Oki Omiro to the Priest of the Inner Shrine,* ’* he said. 

“The deuce he has,” I was about to say, for “Omiro** 
next to Mikado was the name of the most noble and the 
most noted family in Japan. 

I caught myself in time and said simply: 


A ROMANCE OF THE ORIENT 


17 


“Yes; she has asked me to hand you this.” 

He took the letter and glanced at its superscription — 
somewhat in surprise it seemed to me — opened the envelope, 
read the note quickly, and gave me a look, the most friendly, 
the most reassuring, it has been my lot to receive from any 
man. 

Clearly this man was no Torquemada, and I had walked 
into no inquisitorial jaw. He asked to be excused for a 
moment, and passed into a sort of sacristy door, low and 
overhung with draperies. While I waited, I walked to a 
window. The eight men who had borne the oblong boxes 
were passing through a court, returning evidently from 
some new mission in the temple gardens, for their arms 
were filled with fiowers. As one pushed open a door which 
faced directly upon the garden, I caught a glimpse of the 
boxes they had carried in. This was in a room, as I was 
soon to learn, in the House of the High Priest. The two 
boxes were on a shelf about half the height of a man from 
the fioor, and when the door swung back again, I saw, at 
one end of the shelf, a statue of Buddha, and by its side a 
white lily in a vase, evidently of cloisonne or some other 
costly ware. 

Asoka Sakyamuni, the High Priest, now returned, 
carrying a small chair. “Be seated,” he said; “chairs are 
not common in the temple. This one is for distinguished 
foreigners.” 

Honors were coming too fast to try to dodge them, so 
I smiled and sat down. 

“The Countess Oki Omiro,” said the priest, “asks 


18 


A ROMANCE OF THE ORIENT 


that I issue you an invitation to escort her to the Inner 
Shrine.’’ 

‘ ‘And you will do so at once ? ” I urged, for my thoughts 
were with the little lady at the temple stairs. His philosoph- 
ical calm had ceased to impress me. 

“Not now; it is impossible,” he replied. “Where is 
the Countess? ” 

“She is waiting out there at the door of the temple.” 

A flush came over the face of the High Priest. His 
acquired calm could not screen his alarm. Now he spoke 
quickly : 

“It is against the law of the temple, the law established 
by the great Tycoons, the Imperial ancestors of this fair 
young woman, that any member of her sex and station 
should come unescorted; and no one may be permitted 
to bring her hither unless he is her equal. Something of 
great urgency has prompted her to come, but you see she 
faltered, knowing the law, and has sent you.” 

“I am not her equal,” I said; “that I concede — no 
man can be ! ” 

“True,” he said quickly; “but the Auditor of the 
Temple must write in his books the account of such a visit, 
and her escort’s title must appear.” 

Suddenly he took up again the envelope which had 
contained her note. 

“Did she tell you that I had been in Galveston at one 
time?” he asked. 

I replied that she had. 

“Now I understand,” he said, as he opened a little 


A ROMANCE OF THE ORIENT 


19 


writing-book on a low bench and began to write hurriedly, 
talking as he did so. “The Countess,” he said, “is one of 
the few people in the empire who know of my life in America. 
I have told her, too, that all are kings in that land. She 
likes to talk English. And I told her how, when a student 
in your country, I worked one year in the rice-fields to 
increase the strength of my body and purse, and how I lived 
one time in the city of Galveston, and that I had learned to 
love the place and its people. On this envelope,” he added, 
“she states that the note is presented by the ‘Prince of 
Galveston.’ ” 

“She has imagination,” I said. 

“Yes, she is a genius,” he concurred, still writing. 
“You see this enables me to make out the papers in proper 
form. She will have her invitation now, and you will escort 
her here.” 

“Better make it the ‘Prince of Pelican Island,’ ” I 
added. “It will be easier for me to live up to the role.” 

I was impatient to be back, and with the paper he thrust 
into my hand as he smiled over my final title, I turned to 
leave. The High Priest instructed Hashihoko, as I afterward 
learned, that he was to proclaim as he led the way back that 
he was escorting from the Inner Shrine, His Highness, the 
Prince of Pelican Island, who was to escort back Countess 
Oki Omiro, the Illustrious. 

Caesar never had a triumph like mine that day. The 
crowded incidents had altogether consumed but a few min- 
utes, but they seemed interminable to me ; and when we 
reached the outer doors there was a fear in my heart that 


20 


R w:/ 


E OF THt ORIENT 


perhaps the Countess had wearied of waiting and had dis- 
appeared. 

But there she was in a semi-crouching position at the 
shrine, irresistible in her attitude of supplication, of trust 
and longing. She looked up as she heard Hashihoko’s shout, 
attended as it was by a sort of murmuring anthem of applause 
from the people. With one accord they had formed them- 
selves into a cordon about her and had kept the place clear. 
Her first glance as we descended told again that she was 
oppressed by some grief, but when her eye caught mine 
her face was transfigured, and I felt, indeed, that I was 
marching to victory. 

“Oh, my Prince,” she exclaimed, “my deliverer, my 
friend, my acquaintance!” 

Her first words had transported me, but I was forthwith 
crushed by the downward crescendo of her compliments. I 
forgot that in Japan everything from our point of view is 
reversed; that the last stands first, and the first, last. 

I said, with what I believed to be the dignity and reserve 
befitting my new station in life, that the High Priest awaited 
us at the Inner Shrine. 

“He will see us ; he will see us ! ” she exclaimed. 

“He will,” I said, “if you will accompany me.” 

She sprang joyously to my side and sent an ecstacy 
through my whole being by frankly taking my hand in hers. 
Thus side by side we returned to the Inner Shrine and to the 
High Priest. The people not only parted before us as the 
faithful Hashihoko, the Herald, announced the advent of 
the Illustrious Visitors, the Countess Omiro and the Pelican 


A 


Prince, but made profound bows or stood in respectful 
rigidity with folded arms, striking an attitude beyond action 
or speech. 

I realized that day how royalty can enjoy the adulations 
of the populace and glory in the awe imperial processions 
inspire. 

On that little journey through the temple she had 
uttered no word, but her hand-clasp had been sure, and I 
felt in the midst of my joy that at last after weary wanderings 
throughout the world I had encountered Kismet. Destiny 
and I were hand in hand. At one gate we were stopped by a 
custodian long enough for him to take the paper written by 
the High Priest as our passport. This official was the Recorder 
of the Temple. It was his duty to place on the books that 
a nobleman had escorted the Countess to the shrine. 

I was proud when I beheld the deference paid her by the 
Custodian of the Temple, Asoka, the High Priest. Bidding 
Hashihoko remain and guard the shrine from intrusion, 
for no person not of equal rank could kneel with the Count- 
ess, the Buddhist, who was in stockinged feet, led the way, 
beckoning us to follow through the great door that led to a 
separate altar reserved for royalty. As if moved by unseen 
hands the temple bells now chimed soft melodies. This 
seemingly was a summons to four vestals, who bowed their 
heads to the floor at our feet three times and immediately 
attacked the shoes of both the Countess and myself, removing 
them. Then the priest turned and addressed the Countess, 
speaking in English as a courtesy to me. 

“Daughter,” he said, “would you speak with me 



Those oblong boxes contained two cases of “High Grade*' Beer! 

















A ROMANCE OF THE ORIENT 


23 


alone?” ^ “Alone! No, not alone. I wish I could never 
be alone some more. This is the sad thing of my spirit.” 

I felt like interposing that that was a matter which 
could easily be arranged. But prudence prompted me only 
to touch her hand. 

“Daughter,” said he, “what is it I can do? ” 

“Is not today the Feast of the Elimination of Sorrow? ” 

“Yes,” he answered. 

“Well,” she said, continuing in English, “I come 
hungry and would be fed.” 

“Not hungry for food, but for love — for sympathy? ” 

“Father,” said the young noblewoman, “my spirit is 
famished. I love, and there is no one. I dream, and then 
I look out and see the gray wall of the palace and beyond 
I hear the cry in the street. Nothing for me ! ” 

“You come for philosophy,” said he. “It is also gray, 
and it ends at walls and ashen skies. But you will join with 
me in the Feast 1 ” 

The girl uttered some Japanese exclamation of delight. 

“Good!” said Asoka. “I will have a surprise.” He 
led the way to his residence. Servants saluted reverently. 
He ushered us into a large room with matting on the floor ; 
the walls and ceiling were made of paper resembling brocaded 
silk. A number of silk cushions of various colors were on 
the floor. The priest knelt down among these, and we 
followed suit. I supposed it was a preliminary hour for 
solemnity, and was correspondingly grave. The Custodian 
of the Temple looked at me and smiled. 

“This is the dining-room,” said he. 


24 


A ROMANCE OF THE ORIENT 


Serving-girls came in so quietly they seemed to float 
through the walls. Soup, and flsh in dainty lacquered boxes, 
were placed on the floor. 

“Now for the great surprise,’* said the priest. The 
Countess anticipatingly laughed with joy, and involuntarily 
spoke to him jubilantly in Japanese. 

The High Priest called to one of the light-footed girls, 
who immediately glided away. Presently we heard the sound 
of many feet and the murmur of voices. One of the walls, 
made of heavy, sliding, paper panels, mysteriously dis- 
appeared, and in came those eight men, chanting apparently 
some kind of ceremonial refrain. The oblong boxes were 
deposited on a rug placed upon the matting. At a command 
from the High Priest the lids were thrown back. 

I have seen many sights in foreign lands. I have seen 
many things that recall America, making the senses tingle 
and setting the heart aglow, but I have never been thrilled 
with a sight more welcome than was disclosed by the opening 
of those lids. For a moment, the High Priest of the Temple, 
the servitors, and — ^for the fraction of a second — even the 
Countess herself, as well as environing Japan, were forgot. 

Those oblong boxes contained two cases of “High 
Grade ** Beer shipped from Galveston, U. S. A. ! 

There I was — thirteen thousand miles from home. 
Half an hour before I had been an alien wandering without 
anchorage or ties in the capital of a strange people; but 
within an hour Fate had conjured up for me a wonderful 
and radiant maiden and a fine old Buddhist philosopher 
(who no doubt would be willing and competent to perform 


A ROMANCE OF THE ORIENT 


25 


a marriage rite) ; and to crown this unplanned and unparal- 
leled delight, here were two chests of incomparable cheer 
from home. 

By acclamation I became toastmaster, and we proposed 
and responded to toasts to Love, to Gautama Buddha, and 
to Native Land. I spoke for Love, pouring libations as I 
spoke. The High Priest spoke for America, telling how 
during his sojourn in Galveston, he had discovered the food 
value of the liquid known as “High Grade’’ Beer and that 
he had since been importing it at times. 

“I was a student in those days,” said Asoka, “and I 
had taken a full course in chemistry and bacteriology. And 
when I saw published in the Galveston ‘News’ an account 
of a chemical analysis of that brew of the Galveston Com- 
pany, I determined to test it for myself. I found, indeed, 
that it contained no adulterants, that it had a low per cent 
of alcohol, and that it was a food tonic. You see me now, 
an old man, but well preserved. I enjoy life. For me every 
day is the Feast-day of the Elimination of Sorrow. And 
I drink now to you. Countess Omiro, and to you. Illustrious 
Prince, Most Favored of Mortals, who though far from the 
City by the Sea which brews this delicious drink, have found 
in remote Nippon not only the same brew here but also the 
joy of meeting and knowing the sparkling, the intoxicating 
Countess of Omiro.” 

“I am overwhelmed,” I said. “I can not contain so 
much joy.” 

The little Countess spoke now. 

“There are only two cases,” said she, merrily. 


26 


A ROMANCE OF THE ORIENT 


For a moment I had a feeling toward Asoka, magical 
host and gracious cosmopolite that he was, that his presence 
was not wholly indispensable. 

We drank again to Love and to America, and Buddha 
was forgot! 

I have sipped vintages in the celebrated cellars of Bremen 
and in the Weinstuben of Berlin. I have had my share of 
red and white wine in villas on the heights above Naples, 
whence Dante caught gleams alike of Inferno and Paradise. 

I have taken the funicular to the terraced gardens high 
above Genoa, where they claim they serve the kind of wine 
Columbus took before he sailed away on his caravels. 

But instead of discovering a continent I experienced 
difficulty in retracing my way to the hotel. 

I have wandered from the Strand into a side streets 
into the tavern where Samuel Johnson and his cohorts 
sailed through Merrie England on “bitter” seas. And I 
have followed the liter through Bavaria! And I had just 
lately shared saki with the famous and brilliant 0 Kin San 
in the House of the Hundred Steps. 

But no drink was ever so dear to me, so inspiring, so 
charged with stimulating freshness as this beer served in 
the home of the High Priest in the temple gardens in the 
city of Tokio. 

All these other drinks and more that I might mention 
were alkaline memories compared with this unexpected 
draught now before me. 

We talked of many things — of America, the land of 
corn and wine, the land flowing with milk and honey ; and 


A ROMANCE OF THE ORIENT 


27 


we talked of the extension of knowledge and the inter- 
nationalization of traffic whereby a Daughter of the Samurai, 
a Priest of Buddha and a Soldier of Fortune could sit down 
and speak in a common tongue and together drink a beer 
brewed on the other side of the world. 

And when I looked into the eyes of the Countess, and 
occasionally glanced at the High Priest, I told of how I had 
followed throughout the world until now the Fata Morgana 
of romance. 

In the ardor of my new-found love I had begun to tell 
this dainty child of the Orient and the attending priest 
that it was no chance that led me thither. A decree as 
irrevocable as the laws of life had brought us into com- 
munion. I waxed eloquent. 

“From the seemingly drifting seaweed to the stately 
star that travels and retraces its unmarked path forever 
across the infinite abyss, nothing moves except through 
impulse and direction of immutable law; and so I say to 
you. Countess Omiro, and to you, my friend. High Priest 
of the Temple, that this to me is the day of all days, the day 
when life begins ; and I know that it has been written in the 
Book of Stars that the Countess of the House of Omiro 
and the Prince of Vagabonds were to meet at last and to 
clasp hands.” And so speaking, I took her little hands in 
mine and she smiled at me with a wonderful sweetness, 
as if a cherry-tree which had been drooping in the Winter 
rain had suddenly blossomed into radiance. 

“Children,” said the priest, “I must leave you for a 
little while, while I prepare for the vesper processional,” 



** Promise me you will do what I ask/’ said my princess, 


A ROMANCE OF THE oetknt 


2 ? 


and he left us. ^ I never before felt my heart go out so 
spontaneously in love to any man. When the world’s roster 
of profound philosophers is compiled, Asoka Sakyamuni will 
be at the head! 

All the sanctities of that holy hour (when the High 
Priest was arranging the processional) the reader may 
divine. There are some things too sacred to be put down 
in black and white. Let it be known simply that the Countess 
told me of the espionage she had to endure save on all days 
but the Day of the Feast of the Elimination of Sorrow ; how 
her palace had become to her a prison. And of course, it 
may be known that I urged the advantage of the Land of 
the Free ! 

Suffice to summarize that our souls met in communion 
there and that we poured a new libation pledging our faith 
and love, and that when the High Priest returned he found 
us sealing and symbolizing our soul communion with clasped 
hands and an international kiss. 

“Well! ” said the High Priest. The Countess did not 
stir from my arms. I looked up and said as I felt her hand 
press mine, “You will marry us at the Inner Shrine? ” . 

The priest hesitated. “His name is now on the record 
of books as a nobleman in the temple,” said the Countess. 

“Come,” said the priest, and without further words we 
followed. 

And so with the rites of that immemorial communion, 
and with the benizons of that Priest of Buddha following us, 
and with all the temple bells astir, we again passed through 
the multitude, the Herald this time chanting a refrain, the 


30 


A ROMANCE OF THE ORIENT 


most melodious that ear hath ever heard. And we went 
below to the canopied jinrikisha and rode away to Arcady. 

“What shall be our permanent home? ” I said to the 
dainty being nestling at my side. 

“There is only one place to live,” she murmured — 
“Galves Tong.” We were hurrying now to the train that 
was to take us to the Yokohama pier. 

From me she exacted that night but one promise, which, 
in our progress through the Elysium into which life has been 
transformed, I shall never fail to keep. 

“Promise me you will do what I ask,” said my princess. 

“I promise,” I replied, “unreservedly.” 

“I want you every year to send for the Feast of the 
Elimination of Sorrow, two cases. of ‘High Grade’ Beer 
to Asoka Sakyamuni, High Priest of the Temple.” 

“I will ship cargoes,” I said. “But I forgot,” I con- 
tinued, looking at my bride tenderly, “to ask the name of 
the temple.” 

“Do you not know?” she murmured. “It is the 
Temple of Love.” 



Hnnonnrtmnit ^xtrsoriiiiitire 


E fame of “High Grade,” The Beer 
That ’s Liquid Food, is spreading 
to the ends of the earth. 

Even in far-away Oriental Japan, 
among the elite and connoisseurs, it is praised 
as a Delicious Luxury and Sustaining Food. 

This year the specially designed. Litho- 
graphed, bottle caps, used in the City of 
Galveston only, on quart and pint packages of 
“High Grade” beer, will he redeemed either in 
cash or merchandise. 

Every hundred caps are worth $1.00 in Cash, 
at our office, or can be exchanged for coupons 
(one coupon for 40 caps, worth 40 cents) or 
merchandise, at almost any of Galveston's 
leading stores. 

Less than 100 caps are redeemable only in 
merchandise or coupons. 

Begm Today— Save the Caps 

GALVESTON BREWING COMPANY 








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